


to all the mistakes we've made before

by MorteLise



Category: RWBY
Genre: Developing Relationship, Hanging Out, I still have a month and change before rt covers backstory it's fine, M/M, depressing storytime with Ozpin, profanity courtesy of Qrow, the storytime is depressing but the fic is not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 11:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15993947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorteLise/pseuds/MorteLise
Summary: Ozpin shares the full story of his curse with Qrow. It turns out the origin of a very familiar superstition plays a bigger role in it than Qrow could've imagined.“Haven’t you ever wondered why crows are considered bad luck?”





	to all the mistakes we've made before

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [RWBY Rare Pair Week!](https://rwbyrarepairweek.tumblr.com/) And absolutely a day late for the relevant prompt. Whoops.

“Haven't you ever wondered why crows are considered bad luck?” Ozpin asks out of blue nowhere, and Qrow glances up from where he’s scraping together the last of his sesame chicken.

Way to bring down the mood, Oz.

Not that they’ve been up to much besides eating takeout in Ozpin’s apartment on an overlapping night off, but it’s comfortable, and comfort is a luxury Qrow’s still getting used to. It’d started off a while back as more late-night tutorial than hangout—Qrow’s the only remaining member of team STRQ not chained to baby duty and there was several millennia left of weird shit to sort through if they wanted the full scope of all the inner circle business—but Qrow had been engrossed enough that the sessions started running long, so why not order food, and then they both started getting wrapped up in their little side conversations more and more until one night Ozpin admitted he was pretty sure he’d run out of teaching material a while back and they just kept meeting up because...well, why not?

And it’s not like either of them have a predictable enough schedule to make a regular thing of it, but when they’ve got the time it generally makes for nice stress-free companionship and that’s something Qrow’s always run short on. What Ozpin is getting out of it he couldn’t say, other than a fix for his exposition addiction and the need to replace six coffee makers over the past year.

(Gods, if this is what courtship was like back in the good old days no wonder they all died young and miserable.)

The question is casually tossed out there, but Ozpin’s gaze is prying and his light tone sounds forced. And he’s gotta know it’s an obvious sore spot for Qrow.

“Nope,” Qrow says, skewering some chicken with a spiteful jab of his chopsticks. “People start blaming you young enough, you stop asking why and just figure it’s your own damn fault.”

Ozpin winces apologetically. “No, I—yes, of course. I’m sorry.” He frowns and turns his attention back to a mug of hot chocolate that goes with exactly none of the things they’d ordered in for the night.

They lapse back into silence. The silence is no longer comfortable.

Qrow stubbornly lets it stretch out through the remainder of his chicken, half his fried rice, and the reintroduction of his flask to the dinner menu before giving in. “Superstitions tend to kinda lose the original meaning anyway, so why bring up how it started?”

He thought they’d wrapped up storytime a while back. But maybe Oz has been saving the worst for last.

Ozpin’s mouth thins into a tight line. He sets aside his mug. “Well, for one thing, I took part in starting it.”

Oh.

It shouldn’t be surprising—not with the bottomless history cesspool that is Ozpin’s existence and his regular habit of blaming himself for such great hits as Salem, the Great War, and Mondays—but a cold, creeping sickness slithers into Qrow’s stomach anyway. He takes a minute to breathe and let it sink in, then pops open the half-full bottle of whiskey Ozpin had offered him out of general principle but encouraged him not to actually drink.

“Okay,” he says finally. 

No smartass comments to add. He’s fresh out.

Why tell him this now?

Ozpin frowns harder, eyeing the whiskey bottle like he regrets giving it to Qrow not so much because Qrow’s drinking it, but because he’d like to be drinking it himself. Despite this, he shakes his head when Qrow half-heartedly wiggles the bottle in his general direction.

“It’s quite an old story, actually,” Ozpin says. “One that begins back when mankind was still new, the two brothers still walked the land, and I, well, I was a different kind of fool from the one I am now.”

He takes another sip of his hot chocolate, then takes another moment to clean his glasses before continuing.

It almost looks like fidgeting.

“Things were—happier, then,” Ozpin says with a wistful smile. “The land still bore the scars of battle, but the brothers delighted in the versatility their new creation’s duality gave them, and the world was fast on its way to healing. For all their power, as incarnations of creation and destruction the brothers had a great many limits we ourselves do not possess. The elder would never have thought to alter his creations in order to build tools and architecture, for example; and the younger, ironically, lacked the ability to destroy his own monsters, as they were already meant to embody destruction themselves. Souls, Aura, magic—none of these things existed before mankind, and the brothers felt that all of those things gave mankind the capacity to surpass its creators. A handful of their greatest warriors alone were able to purge Remnant of its remaining Grimm when gifted with only a sliver of power.”

Qrow’s heard at least the abridged edition of this part before—it’d come up when Oz had to explain why Summer’s eyes could suddenly light up like a disco ball—but he settles in, lulled by the storytelling for reasons that definitely have nothing to do with who’s telling it.

“But one threat to humanity remained,” Ozpin continued. “The wasteland territory where the younger brother had first created his Grimm.  And although the younger brother had willingly ceased production when their battle ended and the older brother had no influence over a land so irreparably dead, power was more fluid and easily gained then—the brothers delighted in seeing what limits mankind was willing to push itself to and so made it easy to obtain—and both were very aware that an area so deeply infused with the younger brother’s essence could easily be seized and reawakened by the wrong person. And so, unable to influence it on their own, they began work on the Relics so that mankind would have the power to do so themselves, and set a guard to keep it out of human hands before the Relics were completed.”

It’s an easy guess who that was.

Ozpin gestures to himself anyway with a wry, self-conscious little smile.

“I was flattered to have been chosen by the gods, and the powers they imbued me with were more than enough to keep intruders away, but time was an abstraction to them and enough passed that even the ridiculous amount of pride I had in my position wasn’t enough to stop the job from becoming, well, tedious. Most who tried to slip past my guard were not terribly creative, and I regret to say I became overconfident in my ability to defend my post from them. It became drudge work. And for all the prestige my job afforded me, it didn’t change the fact that the birth of civilization was developing out in a world I no longer felt a part of, and couldn’t witness myself.

“And then there were my many patrons,” he adds with an exasperated grimace. The kind he gets whenever the council comes calling. “We had never before been without gods, you see, and I was the nearest substitute the people had in their absence. It’s amazing how little people’s desires have changed: most came seeking answers, power, fortune, fame, or affection not freely given. Only the first of which I felt any inclination to give, and was least adept at giving. But then one day there was—”

Ozpin takes a breath, face falling like even half a thought about whoever-the-fuck is enough to send him right back to trauma town. He takes another breath, and then a slug of cocoa so long Qrow wonders if maybe he spiked it after all.

Then he smiles, and Qrow’s heart skips a beat, because it’s the saddest damn smile he’s ever seen.

Oh. That kind of whoever-the fuck.

“From the moment I first saw him, I knew he was different,” Ozpin says quietly. “Life, it seems, is easy to settle into, and most already seemed to take for granted how new it all was. But not him. What he asked for was the opportunity to see it all: a way to travel the world and witness what humanity was doing with it in its infancy. And I confess such a wish resonated strongly with my own desires, so I agreed to grant it.”

And now Oz is aiming that smile at Qrow, and in a selfish way it’s incredible but mostly it’s just kinda devastating.

Qrow makes sure to put the bottle away.

“I gave him wings,” says Ozpin, and so many things shuffle into place. “And charged him to make the most of them, relieved in the knowledge that at least someone was out there living the dream I could not. And from what word of him reached me, he did—people far and wide knew of the shapeshifting wanderer already filling in all corners of the map. Knowing that he had not squandered the gift was enough. I never expected he might return.”

His smile brightens, wistful and fond.

“But return he did, overflowing with stories and eager to share them all. He was so passionate in describing his travels that it felt to me as though I had been there myself. And when I thanked him for it, he swore to continue our correspondence. Payment for my gift. And he held to it; scouring the globe and living life to the fullest, generous enough to let me live it vicariously through him. It kept me going. And I told myself it was enough.”

The smile fractures. Ozpin closes his eyes.

“Until his travels brought him to Salem.”

Qrow’s pretty sure he can guess how the gist of things go from here. But they do say the devil’s in the details.

And Salem’s all about details.

“She and I had met by then, in passing,” Ozpin admits. “I had liked her, even—she could put on a pleasant enough front and was shrewd enough to only ever ask me for answers. Answers I thought nothing of at the time, but now deeply regret giving. The darker work she left to proxies, even then. I don’t know how many of the people I turned away from the wastelands had only tried to gain access at her behest, or what she was able to learn by my doing so. But she had at last found her way in. She knew what I wanted, and he had the power to convince me to be selfish enough to take it.”

Qrow feels like a voyeur now, even though Ozpin chose to share the story. Oz had been pretty up front about the broadstrokes of his curse once team STRQ had gotten really serious about committing to the fight—that it was his punishment for failing to stop Salem’s ascension—and that was already a miserable, morally murky bit of backstory, but hearing all the sordid details, seeing that much adoration and self-loathing on Ozpin’s face as he talks about a heartbreak that’s haunted him for literal ages…

It doesn’t feel like he should be watching this.

But he doesn’t want to stop it, either.

“One night,” Ozpin says quietly. “That was all he asked for, and gods help me, I wanted to give it. And that gave her all the time she needed to take the power for herself.”

“But why’d he do it?” Qrow blurts out in spite of himself. He can’t not notice the similarities—just enough to make him ask. “She talk him into backstabbing or pull one over on him, too?”

From the alarming spectrum of emotions that runs over Ozpin’s face, that’s either a great question or the worst possible one.

Ozpin huffs a humorless laugh. “You know,” he says bitterly, “at the time I never thought to ask.”

Worst, then. Qrow wishes _ he _ hadn’t asked.

There’s a lull, then, where Qrow sits there feeling like the biggest goddamn idiot on the planet while Ozpin disappears down some sort of existential despair hole.

“I didn’t mean to…” Qrow begins hesitantly, but Ozpin shakes his head as he comes back to himself and waves a dismissive hand.

“It’s a question I asked myself, much later. I’ve spent my fair share of time dwelling on it, believe me.” He shrugs, turning his attention back to his mug for a moment. “But whatever the reason, the damage had been done. It didn’t matter how hard I tried to stop her after, nor that I gave my life trying to do so. It never would have happened if I had remained vigilant. So the gods decided I would not rest until I fixed it. There was nothing more they were willing to do—all that had come to pass had done so through human autonomy, and this world they had always intended to leave for us. And with this final disappointment, they did so: leaving the Relics, sealing the remainder of mankind off from magic, and cursing me to the existence I’ve lived since. The Grimm walked Remnant again, and I found myself revived in a body that was not my own. The only, ha, silver lining to my task were the silver-eyed warriors and that Salem’s power relied on her remaining in the wastelands to draw from what the younger brother had left there. But the damage had been done. What should have been a paradise became the stage for a new war. All because of my moment of weakness.”

Ozpin presses a hand to his forehead like he thinks it’ll keep the memories out, frown back in place as he continues. “I saw him again, in that second life. And I—can’t say I was very understanding. If there was an explanation he could have given I was in no state to hear it, enraged twice over from one life betrayed and another stolen. I could have just taken back the gift I had given him, but instead I forced him keep it. Permanently.”

So. That’s a thing he can do. Qrow wonders if Raven has any idea how lucky she is that Ozpin’s mellowed out about the betrayal thing over the years.

Probably not.

Ozpin’s smile is an unhappy combination between wistful and bitter. “At first, I think, he hoped I might forgive him. When I did not, he turned to the one person he thought might have the power to help him instead.”

Qrow frowns. “Could she?”

Doesn’t sound like her cup of tea.

“I doubt it,” Ozpin says wryly. “The power she stole was tailored purely for destruction. But that didn’t stop her from stringing him along with empty promises. He became her eyes; her scout and herald in the rest of the world as she remained tied to the wastelands. People learned soon enough that black feathers on the horizon meant the Grimm were coming, and for those unaware I did my best to spread the word. 

“I don’t know when or how he passed. But the warning lived on—not by my doing; once I realized he was gone I deemed it unnecessary, so Salem must’ve kept the concept alive. An enduring reminder of my folly, I suppose.”

Ozpin takes a deep breath and straightens up, jolting out of his reverie with a tight smile. “So here we are, millennia later, I no closer my goal and you cursed by a superstition that was perpetuated to spite me. Funny how these things work out, isn’t it?”

Funny’s a word for it. But not a very good one.

Gods, Oz probably wants him to have some sort of reaction, doesn’t he?

It’s a lot to react to.

The annoying part is Qrow can’t even hide behind a ‘why me’—of course him, it’s literally the crow legend and he’s Ozpin’s storytime pal—but the others would’ve actually known what to do at this point: Glynda would have some succinct explanation indicating she understood the whole thing perfectly, Summer would be oozing empathy and comfort what with her huge heart and legend empathy, and Tai would pick just the right words to say and somehow spontaneously produce every kind of comfort food under the sun.

Qrow has sarcasm. That’s not gonna cut it here.

Ozpin’s expression is falling by the second as the silence stretches on, and Qrow rallies himself. Fuck it, he’s gotta try something.

Qrow shoots for nonchalant and hopes it’s the right choice, flashing an off-handed smirk. “All that drama and you still had the bright idea of giving it another shot, huh?” he says, and as he does something occurs to him. “Hope that means I’m better at it. Or is this your way of telling me you see history repeating itself?”

Wrong choice, apparently, but at least Oz looks more flustered than offended. “Well—if history has repeated itself, consider the difference split between you and your sister. I was more concerned—that is I wondered—” he clears his throat and adjusts his glasses self-consciously. “Salem, of course, you knew I was responsible for, but my part in creating the superstition—”

The man is dedicated to being a martyr.

Also Qrow is predictably terrible at this comfort thing.

“You didn’t make it what it is, Oz, stop taking the blame,” he says, and Ozpin puts his head in his hands.

“If I had been kinder, or more forgiving, whatever else I might have caused that part of the tale would never have come to be. Your name, the Semblance you developed in the face of that stigma—”

Oh, Oz.

“They weren’t exactly kind and forgiving circumstances,” Qrow points out. Because that should be  _ really obvious _ . “Let a tragedy be a goddamn tragedy, you’ve earned the right. And anyway you said it yourself, you’re not that guy anymore. Literally.”

Ozpin furtively raises his head at that, cautiously optimistic.

That’s closer to his default state of being. Qrow must be doing something right.

Qrow takes a breath and manages another wry smirk. “Hey, even if we lived in a world where you didn’t flip out on your ex, that wouldn’t have stopped my mom from dying in childbirth or me from getting born second. When people are looking to find something to blame, they find it. They just might’ve slapped a different label on it.”

Ozpin’s expression softens, sympathetic and relieved, and that does at least six funny little things to Qrow’s heartbeat that he’s just not gonna bring up. 

And he does get it now; how they fell into friendship so easily, why Oz has always been able to intuit him so well, why the walls go up when Qrow gets a little too familiar—and he almost does wish Ozpin’s age-old betrayal never happened, but mostly because he hates the distance he just now realizes it’s been putting between them.

At least Oz had said the difference was split. So hopefully that means Raven gets the betrayal, and Qrow gets—

That means he gets—

Qrow shoots up from his slump in his seat.

“Wait, is the only reason we’re not going out because you were scared I’d blame you?” he asks incredulously, and he’s never seen Ozpin look so deer-in-headlights cornered before.

“Hm?” Ozpin says, still wide-eyed, and confusion has never sounded so fake.

Wow. What the fuck. 

Qrow doesn’t have much in the way of dating experience but he’s still pretty sure this isn’t how it’s supposed to go down.

“Unbe-fucking-lievable,” he says, throwing up his hands. “Okay, hopefully we’ve covered that I don’t. I appreciate you coming clean with the story, but my miserable life isn’t your fault. Or did you miss all the parts where you helped make it better?”

“Well, I—”

Nope. No excuses. They’re dating now.

“Listen,” Qrow says sharply, “I know we’ve at least been having takeout, but now you’re telling me we could’ve also been having makeouts, and that’s just wasted opportunity. I had my money on you being disinterested or addicted to pining, but it turns out it’s just your massive guilt complex back at work.”

Ozpin raises a knowing eyebrow. “And how many bets have you lost?”

Knew he should’ve picked different wording.

Qrow scowls. “Three. Shut up.” 

That earns him a soft laugh.

So they’re on their way back to normal. Better than normal, even.

But somehow it feels like that distance is still there—that he’s not supposed to touch. And maybe that feeling might be coming from Qrow himself.

Blame goes both ways. And that guy had screwed Oz over in a colossal way.

“I mean, if you’re worried I could be that guy all over again I get it,” he says, and Ozpin glances at him with a surprised frown, “but I’m really hoping I’m not.”

“I know you’re not,” Ozpin says gently, and a weight Qrow hadn’t even realized was there lifts off his chest. “I won’t say the parallels aren’t there, but you—I—” He waves a hand in a vague gesture probably even he doesn’t have the meaning for. “If and when I look at you and think of him, it’s not a reminder of past mistakes, it feels like redemption. How we could’ve been better. How you and I are better.” Ozpin gives up on the abstract sign language and reaches across the table to take Qrow’s hand with a hesitant smile. “So, Qrow Branwen. Will you help me get it right this time?”

Qrow squeezes his hand and smiles back. “Any way I can, Oz.”


End file.
